Spell'd
by Basorexxia
Summary: Tamara is slowly learning lessons down in The Devil's Carnival. One by one, she realizes that she shouldn't trust everyone who crosses her path. But what happens when a certain Scorpion wants to earn her trust once more by trying to protect her in an abandoned Carnival? Rated T for now.
1. Lesson One: Flatterers

It never failed to surprise Tamara; the abruptness of her own death. She had died three times now, including the time when she was first brought down to Hell. The angry shouts of her psychotic boyfriend still echoed in her head if she let them, reminding her of her endless foolishness. Her naivete that caused her own demise each time she awoke. The brunette always fell into vivid dreams when she died; ones filled with tumultuous, stormy seas and water filling her mouth and lungs. She drowned each time— there was no safety for her it seemed, not even in her dreams. And ever since her first death in the Carnival, a crooning voice was always present right before she sank down into the briny blue.

_"Trust me. Trust me, Tamara. Don't you trust me?"_

Grey-green eyes rimmed by long black lashes shot open, for the third time. Tamara felt the familiar feeling of fear spreading through her as she looked around. She seemed to be at the Carnival's First-Aid center, since there were beds all around and discarded bandages as well as red-crossed kits littered on the floor. She sat up, the tulle underneath her dress made soft shuffling noises as she moved. The dress was a shining white, silky and rather poofy, but it looked alike to a nurse's outfit — if a little more elaborate and shorter, with red crosses decorating the hem that barely brushed her knees. Her hair was curled tightly and perfectly, her face powdered softly; she looked like a doll.

"Where am I now? Hello?" the young woman's voice was soft and trembling. She mentally chastised herself when she called out, reminding herself that she was in Hell and that she didn't want to meet anymore "colourful" characters in this horrid place for as long as she lived. She had had enough with the two she had the displeasure of running into; the bad boy with the knives and the jab as sharp as a scorpion's sting and the horned creature with the dark, tempting voice who lured her to his bed. Tamara wondered if the latter was Lucifer. She wouldn't be surprised; he had the voice of an angel.

Tamara jumped down from the bed, her pristine, small, white heels clacking against the stone floor laid beneath the tent. As she did so, something that was sitting on one of the beds nearby caught her eye. She went over and picked it up, nearly dropping it in surprise when she realized what it was — a doll-replica of the bastard who stuck a knife in her chest. The doll was quite large for a plaything, about the size of her forearm. It gave her the creeps and the brunette debated throwing it against the wall or setting it on fire, but settled instead, on taking it with her. Perhaps one of the weird carnies would give her information if she gave the doll to trade.

Upon exiting the medical tent, the young woman was met with quite a sight. Or perhaps a _lack _of a sight would be a more accurate term. There was almost nothing left of the Carnival, the place looking like it had gone out of business. There a few tents and rides still left, and plenty of lights illuminating the inky nothingness outside of the Carnival, but it was nothing compared to the impressive sight she had been met with upon entering the fair the first time. From her place outside of the medical tent, she could see the large cages where she had awakened and where she had met the cruel young man. Tamara's hand involuntarily tightened into a fist around the doll's wrist, the soft felt buckling underneath her angry grip. Did she hate him? Perhaps. Tamara had never felt such a dark emotion in her before.

The young woman reached the cages and touched the bar of the one where he had been; smoking and looking oh-so-cool. He was so perfectly suave and charming, charismatic and sweet. How could she have not fallen for him? Sure, he looked a bit… unconventional, but maybe that's why she was had been so drawn to him. Gritting her teeth, Tamara leaned against the cage, looking around. Where had everyone gone? Was he gone as well? Part of her hoped so, but part of her feared being in the creepy carnival alone — then again, he wasn't much better company. He might just stab her again. She lifted the doll to her face and realized that it had a bump in the well-made, leather jacket pocket. Frowning, Tamara gently reached in with two fingers and pulled out an orange Ring Pop. Her blood instantly ran cold at the sight of it. _'Why would somebody play with me like this?!' _She thought tearfully, momentarily forgetting that she was indeed in Hell.

Tamara frowned, her brows pulling together in confusion. Too tempted to pass it up, she slipped the ring on her finger, just for old time's sake. He _had_ been awfully charming, it's true. She admired it, the orange-hued candy gleaming like an actual gem in the bright lights of the carnival. The brunette realized that she didn't even know his name, since he had never offered one — yet he had known hers, and he used it against her willingly. Drawing her to him like a bug caught in a spider's web. Without realizing it, the young woman began to sway slightly, humming that charming little tune he had sung to her as he strapped her to the wheel. She spun in a circle, the doll in her free hand as she remained looking at the ring adorning her finger. She did not see the figure appearing from the cages behind her and she did not hear the heavy boots.

It was the singing that she heard.

"_Trust me, trust me, honeydew. Just like I trust you_."

The last part of the sentence came from right beside her ear and Tamara couldn't hold back a sharp cry of fear. The man she had grown to dislike immensely was looking at her with that same smug smile that he had given to her the first time they met. The young woman swallowed hard and backed up into the cage behind her, looking at the youth with wide, grey eyes.

"What's cookin', dolly? You sure do look cherry in those threads," his outdated lingo used to make her smile, now it just irritated her and fueled the distrust and anger she had towards him.

"You stay away from me! Don't think I'll fall for your stupid little tricks again!" Tamara's voice bordered on the hysteric, eyes filling with tears made of both fear and rage. The Scorpion looked surprised, raising both hands in a sign of surrender as he gave the brunette the most honest look he could muster — which was very honest looking, she had to admit.

"Hey baby, I didn't mean to rattle your cage, alright?" he was talking to her like she was a wild animal backed into a corner and he was trying to coax her out of her fear. Tamara glared at him; it wasn't going to work this time. She had had enough of Hell's tricks and pain.

"I'm not your baby, you… you, jerk!" she snapped, sliding off to the side when he took a step towards her. A flash of emotion flickered across his pale face — was that regret she saw? — before he gave her a soft, gentle smile.

"Tamara, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. Haven't you noticed? The Devil's Carnival is empty. All the carnies, along with the boss, are up there," he pointed up into the blackness above. "Tryin' to fight Heaven. A war, you know? Somethin' about redemption and lessons and saving people," he gave her a grin, trying to move closer again.

Tamara shook her head and took another step backward, holding the doll of her torturer in front of her like a shield, "S-stop! I don't believe you! If that's true, why are you still here? Why aren't you fighting against the angels or whatever?" Grey eyes met soft blue as she stared at The Scorpion, willing for him to tell the truth — for once.

"The boss wanted me to stay and look after the little dolly who's too trustin'. Now, I'm not being a shuckster this time, I swear, I promise I'll protect you," he paused, obviously wanting to say something but holding himself back. Tamara could already imagine what it was that he wanted to say so badly.

_"Trust me."_

The slender young woman paused, finding herself at an impasse. If he really was the only person left in the carnival, did she have any choice? She was sure that he could find her anywhere she went — he had spent who knows how long in this place while she had barely spent what? Two days? Maybe?

"Protect me from what? If you're the only thing left here, then you'd be protecting me by leaving! In case you don't remember, the last time you said you'd protect me, you ended up sticking a knife in my chest!" Tamara shot back, backing away onto the path that led to who knows where. She had never been in that part of the carnival — though she doubted that it led to much now that everything was dilapidated.

"Tamara… Wait… D-Don't leave," The Scorpion took a step forward when he saw her movement and Tamara took that as her signal to run. Turning on her heel, she made her way into the maze of fallen tents and broken signs. She jumped over collapsed stands and entered into a larger tent, one with a single curtain and a large sign with many pointing arrows that said: _"The Devil and His Due."_

She didn't have much time to contemplate where she had ended up, or how The Scorpion had looked at her so sadly before she had run away, because that same beguiling voice called for her from outside the tent; sounding a lot like how she imagined a Wendigo to sound like.

Tempting, warm, desperate.

With a soft huff of fear, she cut through the ropes that showed where the line was supposed to go and entered the curtain.

She had no choice.

* * *

_Lesson One: "Do not trust flatterers."  
_-Aesop's Fables: The Fox and The Crow


	2. Lesson Two: Look

Hello there! I thought I'd include an author's note this time around. Mostly because I need to apologize for not posting a chapter up sooner; I was afflicted with the dreaded writer's block. I've had this chapter planned out for literally a month, but the actual words just wouldn't flow. But I finally finished it, yay! And, it's very nice to see that people are reading my story, but I would appreciate some sort of feedback from my lovely readers. I mean, I hardly know if you guys even like it, but regardless, I'm going to continue it. Even if it's for my own enjoyment. Thank you for the people that did review, followed and favourited, I love you guys.

I keep forgetting to include a disclaimer so: **I do not own The Devil's Carnival or its characters. **

Also, small reminders:  
_A full paragraph in italics is a flashback.  
_**Bolded line breaks of various designs (xoxoxo/x~x~x) mean shifting point of views. **

Thanks for reading, reviews are very much loved and are used as inspiration!

* * *

_"What do you mean I can't go?"_

_The Scorpion's usual bad boy persona was dramatically reduced by the childlike whine in his voice when he addressed his boss; the big Kahuna down in Hell, the Fallen Angel, Satan. Lucifer. The delinquent ran a hand over his slicked back "hair", missing the feel of real strands instead of what Hell had awarded him with when he accepted his boss' offer to become a carnie — plastic. His hair was as fake as the act he had put in front of Tamara in order to get her to trust him._

_"You can't go. And that's final, Scorpion," Lucifer's voice was impatient, though there was a thread of understanding in the deep tones. Of course he understood why the young man was upset, it wasn't every day that Hell got to wage war against Heaven for the right to save lost souls. "Tamara still hasn't awoken from the last time she died here and she needs someone to stay with her, she cannot fall prey to the others outside of the Carnival. She needs your protection, Scorpion."_

_It was Satan's own fault that she hadn't woken up yet, since he had been the one to take her off of the Scorpion's hands, telling the young man to leave her to him instead — that he would get her to see the lesson she was supposed to learn. Needless to say, it hadn't worked and now Scorpion had to pay the consequences for it. He bit his tongue to keep himself from complaining that it wasn't fair, that he shouldn't be the one to take responsibility; but since this was Hell, there was little that was fair. Instead, the pale man looked at his boss in confusion, why did she have to be under his care? Why not Doll's? He knew that she had some sort of twisted curiosity about the brunette._

_"Why me, boss? Why do I have to stay here?" The Scorpion's voice was still plaintive, though it was obvious that his fight was giving out. He already knew that he was going to stay in the abandoned Carnival, but he kept on going, if only for appearances._

_"She is your case, Scorpion. I entrusted her to you so she could learn her lesson and her punishment must be carried out, with or without me here. You are one of my best employees, if a little rebellious, so I trust that you will teach her that she is not to trust anyone," there was a pause, Lucifer leaned back on his plush chair, hands entwined. "It is quite the shame though, I wish I could have taken her along; she would have been so disarming — her innocence could have given us the perfect edge."_

_The Scorpion's lips twisted bitterly, pulling out on of the many switchblades that he stored on his person, "You know what else would have given us the perfect edge?" he twirled the knife, showing off the skills Lucifer already knew he had before continuing, "My knives."_

_With that, the Scorpion slid the knife back into his pocket and stormed off. The Devil thought nothing of it, already used to the young man's tantrums after years and years of being subjected to them._

**x~x~x~x~x~x**

The Scorpion was now trying to find the young woman who had escaped from him so easily. It seemed that he was starting to lose his touch — or maybe it was because Tamara was starting to learn the important lessons that were supposed to redeem her. In either case, the fact that he couldn't find her was starting to irritate him. She was meant to stay by his side, because how else was he going to protect her? He wasn't telepathic or telekinetic, or any of those fancy tele-words.

With mumbled complaints, he looked in another tent before calling out again, making his voice warm and inviting, "Tamara? Tamara where did you go?" The Scorpion wasn't really expecting her to respond, but it was worth a try. Goosebumps rose on his arms beneath the leather of his jacket as he searched. He could feel another being's eyes on him — watching him, waiting to see if he would slip up. This is exactly why Tamara needed to stay by his side; there were worse things in the Carnival now than a few kooky, irate carnies with a penchant for knives. Lucifer was the one who kept out all of the crueler, scarier demons out of the fair, and now he was gone. The knife-nut was amazed that the others hadn't invaded the nearly-abandoned carnival earlier, but he couldn't help but be grateful that they hadn't. Tamara was still A.W.O.L. after all.

"Tamara? Tamara, this is serious. Where are you?" there was a lot of desperation in his voice now as he looked in tents and behind the few game stands that were still propped up. There was no sign of her, which was near impossible. Where had she gone? His hard, blue eyes scanned the area in which he had last seen her, mentally checking off the tents he had already checked. He subconsciously pulled out the knife in his jacket pocket and twirled it thoughtfully — one of his nervous habits. His gaze fell on the tent which he knew led to Satan's office, the one he had left not a few hours ago, and he mumbled a soft curse under his breath. Of course, how stupid was he? The Devil's Tent was the most luring of them all and it was still standing, which made it an obvious choice for hiding.

The Scorpion entered the tent and looked around, the bulbs on the ground flickered but provided brief light. He walked to the black curtain, vaguely noticing how the bulbs burned out as he walked by them. The sign above the curtain caught the carnie's attention. Where it had once said _"The Devil and His Due,"_ it now said something else that caused chills to run up his spine and a twisted sense of glee bubble in his chest. He couldn't keep the devilish smirk off his handsome face as he read the new sign out loud, "'_The Frog and the Well' _Huh. Looks like fun, Froggy dear."

What was not so fun was having to go through Tamara's personal Hell, which laid beyond the thick satin of the curtain. With a soft, disgruntled sigh, an adjustment of his scarf and jacket, and a caress over his hair, the Scorpion pushed aside the fabric and made his way inside.

**oxoxoxoxoxo**

Tamara was scared. Or perhaps, scared was a mild way of putting it — terrified was a better way of putting it. She had entered, expecting nothing more than maybe a long hallway, or a maze of mirrors at the moment. She had forgotten that she was in Hell and that she was supposed to be serving penitence. What she was met with was instead complete darkness, interspersed with flashes of blinding light that allowed her to view her surroundings briefly, once she got used to the abrupt brightness. It was mostly empty, from what the brunette could tell, apart from dark bulks of what she assumed was furniture in the corners.

The young woman tried to stumble through the area, her heels getting caught on seemingly random items scattered on the floor: a jacket, keys, a purse with its contents strewed all around — she proceeded to nearly trip on a lipstick tube when she realized that all of these items were _hers_. '_Impossible_,' she thought in a panic as she picked up the soft leather handbag in her free hand. Oh, it was hers alright. And that wasn't all, the placement of the items reminded her of…

There were several flashes of lights in quick succession, revealing a man's figure of imposing stature and build clouded in shadow. It was impossible to see his features — it looked like he had none — but Tamara could have sworn that he was a double for her ex-boyfriend. She spied something that was metallic and gun-shaped in his hand and her heart sped up, adrenaline shooting through her veins as she realized what was going on and what he was holding.

Without wasting any sort of time, she tried to run for the exit, the door at the end of the room. She wasn't going to make it. With every flash of the strobe-like light, she realized that he was getting closer without seeming to move at all. His posture was the same, yet he was getting closer and closer. Her slender hand tightened on the hand of the doll that she still carried, it was oddly comforting despite whose visage it was made in.

Her suspicions were proven correct when in one of those many flashes, the figure ended up right in front of her, effectively blocking the exit. This close, Tamara could see that the man really did not have any features. His skin was rippling shadows of dark blue, black and grey in the light. There was a terse moment of silence, her wide eyes fixed on him, waiting for something to happen.

_"Tamara, open the fucking door!"_

Huh? That wasn't exactly what she had been expecting. The words were a distorted roar, but she understood well enough. Cowering, she tried to take a step back from the creature that replicating her ex's words. The man's fist shot out and hit her square in the jaw, making her cry out in pain as she crumpled to the ground. The stinging brought back a lot of unpleasant memories and she blinked away tears — she had to escape, she couldn't afford to become a blubbering mess at the feet of this creature! Who knew what he would do to her if she did.

The man seemed to stare at her for a moment, as if he hadn't been expecting her to fall to the ground. Tamara took the opportunity to try and crawl out of the room, since the exit was no more than a few feet from her. She shuffled slowly, as to not draw the creature's attention, crawling around his legs and through the exit, nearly blinded by the bright lights that were beyond the door.

Tamara got to her feet shakily, her hand still gripping the doll at her side tightly while her other one went up her jaw, which was already swelling from the powerful punch. It took her a few moments to register what she was looking at — cars. A massive maze of tightly packed, familiar cars. She ran up to the nearest one and opened the driver's side door, finding nothing; no keys. Of course. How naïve of her to expect anything else. Slamming the door hard, she realized that it was _her _car. Her baby. The only car she had ever had in her nineteen years of age and the car that was supposed to have lasted her through college.

It was her 1997 Honda Inspire, the black paint chipped in various places and the driver's side door had a small dent from a run in with a wayward shopping cart. The teenager remembered naming it Scar, since it made quite the unique roar when she turned on the engine. She ran her fingers over the dent, shocked to see that all of the cars had identical marks.

"This is impossible…" the brunette murmured, her eyes as wide as saucers as she started to make her way through the mass, the space between each car barely big enough to fit her not-quite petite, but certainly not huge, frame. _'Not impossible, Tamara. This is Hell,'_ she reminded herself as she squeezed through an especially tiny space, nearly losing the doll in the process.

A sudden squeak of a door pulled the young woman from her thoughts and made her pause in her determined path through the cars. She turned, expecting to see a certain carnie that was getting to be a thorn in her side. Unfortunately, it wasn't him, but the doppelganger who had gotten out of one of the nearby cars, his huge shadowy bulk making Tamara's blood cold.

"_Baby, it won't happen again. I'm sorry! Trust me! I love you!"_

The words rang in Tamara's ears, pulling her ex's old pleading into her mind. It was always the same after he had hit her, or cheated on her, or broken something of hers. Always the same stupid words and always the same stupid Tamara, who trusted in everybody. Gritting her teeth (an action she immediately regretted when her jaw complained painfully) she watched as the man pushed the two cars encircling him away, the metal bending easily with sharp, ear-splitting crunches and screeches under his hands.

This time, she couldn't help it. She screamed bloody murder as she started to run through the crowded maze of vehicles, crying out when her dress or the doll caught in the mirrors of the cars. She didn't understand why this phantom of her ex was following her — was this to be her punishment? Was she trapped in this place for all eternity? She shouldn't have entered this tent so callously, she now realized that she should have thought about it, instead of recklessly rushing into it.

As Tamara squeezed and slid past the vehicles, something in the driver's seat of one of them caught her eye. It was small, clad in muted colours — another doll. She paused only for a moment, for the lumbering footsteps of the doppelganger were too close behind her for comfort. Moving quickly, she opened the door and took out the doll, not really stopping to look at it. Now, she had two dolls, one in each hand as she ran out of the second room and through an open door which slammed shut behind her.

The young woman took the opportunity to catch her breath, her chest heaving with a combination of exhaustion and panic. Her last two awakenings in Hell were nothing compared to this one — she had never felt this scared in her life. Nearly sobbing, she straightened and tried to calm herself, since she had a feeling that there were still many ordeals to go through before she found her way out of this damned tent.

She stopped to take a look at her surroundings — mirrors. A hall or mirrors, each one of them reflecting a girl, powdered pale and painted to look like a doll with wide, frightened eyes. However, there was already a faint, purple mark marring the doll's perfect jaw — Tamara didn't take much account of her appearance, she didn't really care. Her attention slipped to the dolls in her hands instead, the strangeness of them making her skin crawl.

The doll she had picked up was a replica of the strange lady who the Scorpion had been kissing, the one who had been standing idly by when Tamara got impaled in the chest. Except, she saw now that the dolls were not identical to their real-life counterparts. The Painted Doll's face was whole and beautiful, angelic in its perfection and the eyes were both the same shade of soft hazel. She touched its face gently before moving on to the young man's doll. His had real hair, soft to the touch and the colour of a raven's wing and it looked healthier, not as pale and pasty as its counterpart. The red scarf that he always wore was also missing.

"Tamara?"

The young woman jolted so roughly that she nearly dropped the dolls. The carnie's voice drifted from somewhere amongst the mirrors and she realized that she had been standing in one spot for longer than she meant to. She shifted both the dolls to one arm so she could pat the mirrors with her free hand. To her shock, she saw another reflection join her own, his broad figure taking up the space behind her. The Scorpion looked confused, his brow furrowed, until he caught sight of her and instantly, a relieved smile spreads on his lips. Tamara only stared with wide eyes as he started to make his way over to her — at least, he was, until he ran straight into a mirror, the hard _thunk_ echoing in the room. Tamara felt the horribly inappropriate urge to giggle as she looked at the young man, sprawled on the ground, rubbing his forehead.

Her lips twitched only once before she turned around and began to search for the way out with a renewed vigour, she slid around them and left the young man behind quickly, not even glancing back at him for a moment. She soon reached the end of the mirrors — it was simple and a nice change from the horror of the previous rooms.

She ended up in a long hallway, with many signs plastered on the wall. She only took a brief moment to read some of them, _"that way, trust me"_ _"trust me, exit's over here"_ and _"exit's through there."_ There was nowhere else to go but in the direction that the signs pointed in. Tamara did not see the few that said, "_foolish frog_," as she ran through the hall, excited to get to the end of the nightmarish tent.

She opened the last door cautiously, revealing what looked like a lush, if dark and creepy, office. A large book laid on a desk and she reached out to touch the cover gently as she walks by it. Her fingers tingled oddly and she pulled back, rubbing her fingers and thumb together to get rid of the sensation. She wandered around a bit more, finding a vanity with many tubes of makeup and jars littered on it. Raising an eyebrow, she put down the dolls and looked at herself in the mirror. Her curls were frizzed and no longer perfect, her powdered cheeks had a few streaks where her tears had wiped away the makeup and the bruise on her jaw and cheek looked dark and painful. Tamara gently touched it and winced, damning the doppelganger for having such a powerful punch — just like her ex.

She moved away from the mirror abruptly, not wanting to see her face anymore. There was a plush chair in the middle of the room that looked awfully inviting, her feet suddenly ached from all the running she had been doing. She approached it cautiously, lightly touching the wooden arm. Suddenly, there was only darkness beneath her feet as the floor instantly fell away, the chair disappearing quickly into the darkness. She felt herself follow the chair and she let out a sharp scream that permeated the darkness.

As if responding to the scream, a strong hand encircled her wrist, making her cry out in pain and relief. The hole was abruptly illuminated by a large sign, the bulbs on it flashing gaily as they made up mocking words clearly aimed at her. The "Foolish Frog." With the bright light of the sign, she could make out the face of her saviour; and she found herself wishing that she would have been eaten by the blackness of the hole instead as she gazed upon that too-familiar, sheepish smile.

* * *

_Lesson Two: "Look before you leap, foolish frog."  
_-Aesop's Fables: The Frog and the Well


End file.
